


Fractured Moonlight

by ChameleonCircuit



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post 18X07, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, implied PTSD, in my head anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-05 05:57:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14610978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChameleonCircuit/pseuds/ChameleonCircuit
Summary: Sonny could hear the blood rushing past his ears, could feel his heart pounding against this ribcage. He was aware he was shaking, but he couldn’t seem to make it stop.





	Fractured Moonlight

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta'd
> 
> From a tumblr prompt http://sofuckingchuffed.tumblr.com/post/173793653857/carmisi-you-dont-have-to-pretend-you-care-when

Sonny could hear the blood rushing past his ears, could feel his heart pounding against this ribcage. He was aware he was shaking, but he couldn’t seem to make it stop. 

 

He took a deep, shuddering breath in, then released it slowly, but it did nothing to quell the anger, the fear, rising inside of him.

 

He tried to think, tried to remember what had happened, how he’d got here, hand stinging from an unknown impact. He tried for another deep breath in, but it came too quick, too sharp, followed by another, and another, his lungs burning with the effort.

 

“Sonny.”

 

A voice. It sounded distant, like he was underwater and it was calling to him from the surface. He blinked, chest heaving as his eyes darted around the room, searching for the source of the sound.

 

“God, Sonny.”

 

Carmen. It sounded like Carmen. But that didn’t make sense. He didn’t even know where he was. How was Carmen here?

 

He blinked again. The room looked familiar, he just couldn’t work out why.

 

He clenched his fists, instantly releasing them when a sharp pain ran through his hand and up his arm. Slowly, he glanced down at his hands, flexing them out. His right hand was covered in blood.

 

Blood, bright and red, dripping onto the tiles.

 

He turned to look at himself in the mirror. Something about his refracted, distorted reflection in the broken glass struck him.

 

Home. This was his bathroom, unnaturally bright.

 

“Sonny, look at me.”

 

He whipped around to face Carmen, her eyes wide as she stared back at him, hand outstretched like she wanted to touch but was too afraid to.

 

“You’re with me, okay?” She said softly, taking a tentative step forward.

 

He stepped back, almost slipping on the bath mat, and she stopped, hands raised in front of her.

 

“I’m not going to hurt you, Sonny. I just wanna look at your hand, okay?” 

 

Carmen’s voice was soft, gentle, kind. It pulled at something deep inside him, and his next gasp for air sounded more like a sob as tears clouded his vision.

 

“It’s okay,” she whispered, stepping forward to take his hands in hers, gentle and delicate.

 

He sucked in another sharp, shaky breath, as she guided him over to the sink. He glanced up at his reflection for a brief moment. A flash of red. That’s all he saw before he squeezed his eyes shut.

 

He could smell the blood, taste it on his tongue as gunpowder tinged the air. He tried to jerk away, but when he felt the cool flow of water touch his hand, stinging the fresh cuts, he remembered where he was.

 

“You’re with me,” Carmen soothed, resting her head against his arm as she gently washed his hand.

 

He listened to the running water, letting it ground him, keep him here. He didn’t know how long they stood there, but when the time came he let Carmen guide him into the living room, hand wrapped in a towel. He kept his eyes shut the entire time.

 

“Come here,” she said softly as she tilted his head towards her, rubbing at his forehead with something damp.

 

That’s when he opened his eyes.

 

She sat back from him, wary, like she was frightened he might hurt her. Seeing that look on her face made his heart clench and his eyes burn.

 

He couldn’t look at her. Not like that.

 

“I’m okay,” he croaked out, removing the towel from his hand to inspect the damage.

 

The cuts were minor, but still bleeding just a little. He flexed his hand, stretching his fingers out, relishing in the sting, the burn. He was here. In his living room. With Carmen.

 

With Carmen, who looked suddenly frightened of him. His stomach churned.

 

“Let me take you to the hospital, just in case--”

 

“I’m fine, Carmen,” he snapped, letting his head fall back against the lounge as he shut his eyes again.

 

“You’re not, though,” she said softly, voice barely above a whisper.

 

There was a silence between them, unnatural, uncomfortable, and when Sonny opened his eyes again, forced himself to look at her, she still looked uneasy, like she was waiting for something to happen.

 

**“You don’t have to pretend you care when you already have one foot out the door.”** He hadn’t meant to shout, but he felt so angry all of a sudden, could feel it running through his veins, quicker than blood. He could taste it on the back of his tongue like bile.

 

Carmen flinched, and somehow that made him angrier. He stood up, shoving the coffee table with his foot, relishing in the control he felt, for just a brief moment, before he turned to face her.

 

“Why are you here?”

 

“What?” Carmen sounded smaller, more uncertain, but still, she reached out for him.

 

“Why. Are. You. Here?” He grit out, flinching away as she reached for his hand.

 

“Because I love you,” she whispered, eyes filling with tears. “Because you’re hurting, and I don’t know what’s happened, but I want to make it better, if I can.”

 

Sonny scoffed, but he felt a lump form in his throat at the sight of her tears, tears she wouldn’t let fall if she could help it. As quickly as it came, his anger was doused by shame. He felt the fight drain from him in an instant, leaving him light-headed.

 

Before he even realized he’d lost his balance, Carmen had her hands on him, guiding him back down to the lounge.

 

“I don’t know what I’ve done to make you think I don’t love you,” she whispered, holding him close to her chest as his eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know what I’ve done to make you think I’m not one hundred percent invested in this, in us, but I’m sorry.”

 

“No,” he groaned, turning to press his face into the fabric of her shirt as he held her back tight. “No, I’m so sorry. You did nothing wrong.”

 

He couldn’t stop the stream of apologies that fell from his mouth, getting lost in Carmen’s shirt as she rubbed his back. They were broken only by sobs that he couldn’t hold back, his breath hitching. He felt out of control, emotionally exhausted. To her credit, Carmen didn’t try to stop him, didn’t tell him it was okay. She just let him apologize, over and over and over, for as long as he needed, until he’d calmed down.

 

When his tears had dried up and his breathing had eased, he pulled back from her to look her in the eye. “I’m so sorry.”

 

“It’s not your fault,” she said with a sad smile.

 

“I scared you. You shouldn’t...why are you still here?” He swallowed down on the guilt he could feel threatening to engulf him.

 

“Do you even remember what happened?”

 

He frowned, trying to think, but all he could remember was laughing with Carmen in the kitchen, and then sitting on the lounge with her, his hand bleeding. He thought he remembered a gunshot and the taste of blood, but that was an old memory, a distant memory. That didn’t make sense.

 

He shook his head. “If I hurt you--”

 

“No,” she said softly, cupping his cheek. “You didn’t hurt me. You scared me because you hurt yourself, because you were so far away from me, because I’d never seen you like that before.”

 

He nodded, closing his eyes as he leaned into her touch.

 

“I’ve got you,” she whispered.


End file.
